Certifiable

 

Want to watch me weave a web of domestic delusion? First, give me a long-term assignment; then, sit back and let the crazy unfold. For some reason, deadlines bring out the domestic in me. If there's an assignment looming, I'll clean the bathroom. If there's a project nearly due, I'll cook dinner. Case and point, yesterday was the eve of my poetry portfolio & lit journal submission deadline. I come from work, and what do I do? I bake a lasagna. Know when's the last time I made lasagna? Never. And the night before a major assignment is the perfect time to try a new recipe, right? I am some kind of lunatic.

To my credit, I did have the drafts. I just needed to finalize them, choose the journals I wanted to submit to and write the cover letters. I just couldn't sit myself down. I watched TV and cooked and talked on the phone and ate a late dinner and then got to work on the portfolio. *And woke up he next day with rings around my eyes that made me look part raccoon. Now I've heard that procrastination can be symptomatic of a fear of failure or a fear of success, and HomeBoy and I have talked on occasion about how waiting might be a subconscious ego thing. That way, if you don't get the stellar results desired, you can hide behind the idea that you didn't really give it your all.

But knowing all this wasn't enough to get me to shape up. The other thing is, I won't turn in poor work. It will be later than late before I turn in trash for the sake of being "on time." But the inaccurate ultimatum I just established isn't even legit; it's not a choice between quality and punctuality--I create that dichotomy when I lollygag and dillydally and avoid, avoid, avoid. Honestly, I freeze up. Before I sit down to write anything that will be judged, I think it will suck. I think that I am not the writer that I've fooled myself into believing that I am; I think, "This will be the tell, some one will read it and figure out I have no idea what I'm saying...Hey, let's rearrange the living room!" It happens almost every time, seriously. In the metaphor of writers' blocks--I'm Sisyphus out this b*tch!

I don't want to fail, and for every success the stakes get higher--each success has to be bigger and better than the last one. This sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it? But how can anyone compete with her/his own potential? It's maddening. Well, I got one of my giant projects done, and I've got one to go. So if the next time I post, I'm talking about macrame or microbrewery--you'll know why.

So help me...

Quote of the Day

"Well you're about as helpful 

as a concrete life jacket."

Comparing NOTES: 1 undergrad, 1 postgrad-both freshmen

This series is about the first year of school for an undergraduate student and a graduate student, respectively. Each week, the students will submit journal entries relating their experiences--highs, lows, frustrations, breakthroughs, epiphanies and all-nighters (let's pray there aren't too many of those).

**
1.4

Undergrad 09/05/10

Okay, so I haven't submitted my blog in about two weeks because every time I started my segment, I had to stop and do something else. Right about now I'd have to say that time management is my biggest hardship to overcome. I'm catching up on work from a week ago; I have to complete a student loan form that I honestly THOUGHT i finished prior to moving in; and every time I think I'm done, there's another task awaiting me. I guess this is the hard part of college. Although I thought I'd like the independence, I'm starting to wish it didn't all fall on me like a ton of bricks.

If I could grade myself on things other than school, my grades would go as follows:

A--Cleanliness

B--Socializing

D--Roommate (a different story for a different blog, smh)

A--Relationship

However, these ARE NOT important in college. The actual academic work is what we pay for, but young adults (like myself) get easily distracted by the social side of this experience. My goal in freshman orientation was that by the time I graduate from College socializing wouldn't be so hard for me.After these two weeks I've realized that socializing isn't THAT hard when you have total control of yourself. For example, I can talk on the phone all night if I want, without someone yelling at me, "IT'S THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! GET OFF THE PHONE!", or I can wear whatever I want, whenever I want, to attract a certain type of person without a second thought. When you have the freedom to do whatever and be whoever you want, your self-esteem skyrockets and socializing just becomes easier by default...I just wish being responsible came as easily.

Now that I know my weaknesses, I can strengthen them. Hopefully by next week I'll have some good news to share. '_'

**

Grad 09/07/10

I have been robbing Peter to pay Paul where time is concerned, and it's really a shame. It's not even that there isn't enough time--I'm just procrastinating. UGH! It's embarrassing to even admit that, but it's the truth. One of the things I hoped to do by taking time off between undergrad and graduate school was to vanquish this demon habit. Apparently, old habits don't die hard--they don't die at all. They are undead, zombie habits. But I'm not going to let this screw me up; I'm determined to grab procrastination by its bloodless throat and throw it in a back vault. Then i will fill said bank vault with cement...all that to say, enough is enough already with the procrastination.

In my personal statement for the grad school app, I said that I would bring collaboration and professionalism to my classes and colleagues--skills that I have honed for that last 5 years in the workforce. Well, professionalism certainly has no room for the other "p" word. I'm not going to let myself or my classmates down. There. It is written, so it shall be done. It may be done with a self-imposed facebook block and a 2-hour per week TV time limit and my cell phone on silent until 10 pm every night, but it will be done.

Comparing NOTES: 1 undergrad, 1 postgrad-both freshmen

This series is about the first year of school for an undergraduate student and a graduate student, respectively. Each week, the students will submit journal entries relating their experiences--highs, lows, frustrations, breakthroughs, epiphanies and all-nighters (let's pray there aren't too many of those).

**

1.3

Grad (08/29/10)

Hypothesis: I cannot do my homework at home--least of all on my couch.

Trial 1:

Read...nod...zzz...hours pass...wake with a start...oh hell!

Trial 2:

Begin reading again...reread last passage...nod...zzz...an hour passes...wake in a huff...FTW!!

Trial 3:

READ...nod...zzz...wake with a familiar foreboding...not AGAIN!!!

Conclusion: No, I cannot do my homework on my couch, but that does not mean I will be unsuccessful in every place in my house.

Further Study:

--Try using the office (duh!)

--Do my reading standing up

Disconnec...ted.

Dear FedEx,

What kind of asinine operation are you running where a delivery person would leave several hundred dollars in mobile electronics on a front porch--without ringing a doorbell!? Without requiring a signature!?  Are you stupid?  That is not a rhetorical question; I would really like to know.

Sincerely,
Teresa
**

Dear Young Woman Who Answered When I Called HomeBoy's Number,

Don't let me see you in the street.
On second thought, DO. Do let me see you in the street.
I wish you would let me see you...

So Serious,
The Angry Woman Who Paid for That Phone
**

(And now I can laugh about it...not right now, but soon.)

An Open Letter to a Lit Mag

Dear Up-and-Coming Lit Mag,

I thought we had an understanding. You, without so many issues off the ground, and I, having not published outside of my alma mater's periodical, could work together.  You accept a poem of mine for publication and quell my first-timer jitters, and in return I have various family members purchase copies and contribute to your bottom line--everybody wins!  I came to you humbly enough, not expecting you to give me the world. I was happy simply to be considered; I felt accomplished just submitting my work on time. So I clicked send and thought no more of it. Months passed. I moved on. 

Then, you reached out.  "We liked one of these enough to print it," you said, "so send us a wee bio and your mailing address. We'll send you a couple copies when the next issue prints."  I replied immediately (almost immediately; I had to write the bio--I don't just keep drafts of those lying around just in case).  Then, when I came to from my daydreams of reading tours, speaking engagements, honorary chair positions at esteemed colleges and universities and photoshoots for the book jacket, I told a few people.  I told my parents, a few close friends and the wonderful writers whom I had called upon to workshop with me on such short notice.  They were happy; I was happy; everybody was happy.  

That was months ago, Lit Mag, and the issues that I was supposed to receive are still MIA.  I know print media is going through it. I know magazines, especially start-ups, are having a hell of a time, add to that the fact that you are not aspiring to be pop-culture bird cage liner and it makes things even harder.  I understand that. So, maybe there is no hard copy of this issue. Should I look online?  Will my poem be there?  Did you change your mind and don't want my poem anymore? Did the entire staff and affiliated printing press spontaneously combust?  What gives?  Seriously, I'm not mad. I just need closure.  Tell me if you want me or not, so I can pick up my poems and peddle them elsewhere.  Either way, you were still my first so no hard feelings.

Sincerely,

Me

Slow start?

eating more words than i'm writing, so far this month. :::sigh:::

Dear Daylight Savings

Suck it.

Picture That

Can they do that?

In two days I read about two separate instances of the President and First Lady’s images being used for advertising – without their permission. First PETA uses Photoshop to put Mrs. Obama in an ad, and then Weatherproof finds a photo of President Obama on the Great Wall of China (that’s “President”, NYT, not “Mr.”) and they blow it up and throw it up on a billboard in Manhattan – 41st and 7th Ave.

According to the Associated Press, the coat company paid them for use of the image, but it was up to the licensing party (in this case, Weatherproof) to obtain the necessary clearances. So here we go passing the buck. Associated Press says, “we thought you were gonna do it!” Weatherproof says, “Huh? We bought it from you; we thought you were gonna do it!” Meanwhile a larger than life President Obama is endorsing this press-mongering coat company against his will. (Sure, he looks dashing, but that’s not the point.) Not to mention, for a short time Weatherproof marketed the coat on their website as “the Obama jacket.”

One thing I can say for Weatherproof, at least they used an less familiar image where Obama is actually wearing their merchandise, and not an oft-seen, official press photo. Hello, PETA? Are you listening? The photo of Sister First Lady in her sleeveless, black shift dress with a double string of pearls has been everywhere! Not to mention in the PETA ad she is the one woman standing completely face forward. Were you trying to get caught, PETA?

I know it’s been a long time since the nation has had such a young, vibrant and attractive first family, but this feels really irreverent to me. What’s next? Somebody takes photos of Sasha and Malia and puts their faces on a box of cereal? Sure, the Obamas want to be/appear accessible and of the people, but respect the office and personal privacy. Plus, they seem cool enough – you probably could’ve just asked.

Untitled first draft

I have learned too well
what is acceptable--
what is good and right.
I have learned so well
that I police myself.
Nothing muzzles quite so well
as a tongue afraid to move.
Nothing bounds so tightly
as an uncertain self.

I know all the words to say.
I can turn a phrase,
sprint a rebel word run
that will have your mind
meditating on freedom.
I can sing a song that will incite
a riot. I can do all those things for you,
but not for me.
When we all go our separate ways,
and the picket signs are scattered
in the streets like so many bodies.
I count myself a casualty—
the living dead.

"Rubble"

The air is so thick,
and no step is a safe one.
There are ghosts passing
on either side, but even they
are not weightless.
Wait less.
Move more.
Can’t stay covered in the ashes.
Have to find ________.*
Torn and tattered,
bruised and bloodied,
heads are swimming.
The only parts that feel clean
are the tear track marks.
Salt water makes the skin raise up—
Pagliaccis are everywhere.

*yes, that's a blank. this is only a draft, after all.

About Face

Dear Break-outs,

This is how it works. I vow to wear virtually no make-up and not to pick. In exchange, you happen very seldom – only a few pimples at a time – and in a singular area on my face. I let you run your course, using only a mild astringent, and then you leave me be. WTF, Breakouts? This was not part of the deal.

Aggravated & Self-Conscious,
Teresa
**

Dear Teresa,

You don’t own me.
I do what I want.
(RHASBERRY!)

That’s “Miss Break-outs” to You,
Miss Break-outs
**

Dear Break-outs,

Do I really have to get reinforcements?
Because I will. Don’t make me do it.

Teresa
**

Dear Teresa,

Empty threats. You can’t just up a change the skin regiment all willy-nilly! That’s not even your style – gimme a break! What’chew gone do now, punk? Bust a move!

B
**

Dear B,

Please leave sooner than later. Uncle.

Teresa
**

T,

I’ll think about it. (Chump.)

i dont know

this is only a test to see if i can post twice to the same blog...i can;t believe there's no way to close an account. that's like starting a road, getting to a river a saying, "oh, we don't have a bridge!" i should be sleepin'.
peace(fully), tmL